


Gone, Still

by interflora



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Boyking!Sam, M/M, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-19
Updated: 2013-02-19
Packaged: 2017-11-29 21:22:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/691577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/interflora/pseuds/interflora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They’re closing in on Yellow Eyes and everything’s gonna be fine. Sam will stop having those nightmares and Dean will stop waking in the middle of the night to find his brother staring out the motel windows like he’s waiting for something.</p><p>Sam will start talking for real again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gone, Still

**Author's Note:**

> Rainy day drabble. Wincest.

                Here, he says. Pull over here.

                Dean knows better than to ask. They’re on the edge of farmlands somewhere in Pennsylvania and it’s raining.  The opposite side of the road is lined with trees, the border of a barren forest across from the fields.

                The land’s dead and frozen, struck by a bitter wind and stripped of color. The yellowing grass is all that remains, the bare trees stretching spindly fingers to the sky.

                Sam’s hand finds its way to Dean’s thigh and they end up tangled in the backseat even though Sam’s too tall for it.

                Snow starts to fall, mixing with the raindrops at first before screening the entire landscape in puffy flakes.

                Sam’s burning up and Dean wants to get him out of those clothes for the first time in years because they haven’t done anything like this, not since—

                Dean’s half on his stomach, his face smashed into the window because Sam’s holding him down the way he wants him, thick fingers keeping his head down while he mouths at Dean’s nape.

                The snowflakes are thick even after the rain and he can’t see further than a few feet out the windows of the Impala.

                Let’s go outside, Sam says in his ear. His breath tickles Dean’s earlobe, his body pressing down on Dean’s.

                Dean follows Sam into the woods and tries to keep himself from shivering. Snowflakes light on his arm, melting at once and leaving cold puddles.

                Sam seems oblivious to the snow even in a hoodie and worn jeans.  

                Sam—

                Sam shakes his head, pushing Dean up against the nearest tree and he’s smashed up against it, powerless under all that devouring energy. Sam crowds him, getting a leg between both of Dean’s and pushing up on his older brother.

Sam doesn’t say a word, nudges Dean’s coat off into the mud and then Dean down on top of it, down to the ground, to the wet dead grass and this is the weirdest thing they’ve ever done by far.

                Dean goes down easy and doesn’t resist, just looks up at the tall silhouette of his brother in the snow. He’s painfully hard and a little embarrassed and most of all just desperate.

Thick white flakes catch in Sam’s hair. He is tall and thin and he pins Dean with those gold-green eyes of his, daring him to move.

Dean doesn’t, only gets his elbows under him so he’s half-sitting.

In a single fluid motion Sam’s down on the ground with him, straddling him and catching his mouth in a harsh kiss. The wet ground gives under their combined weight, Dean’s jeans soaking through with water from the grass. He can feel himself sliding in the mud, the seat of his jeans probably ruined.

Sam opens his eyes again for a brief moment, gaze running all over Dean and bringing still more goose bumps that have nothing to do with the snow. And Dean could swear that, just for a fraction of a second, that gold turns yellow, eclipsing the hazel and becoming hazy and thick.

But it’s Sam on him, Sam’s heat seeping through his wet clothes.

And Sam smiles and it’s his Sam.

 They’re closing in on Yellow Eyes and everything’s gonna be fine. Sam will stop having those nightmares and Dean will stop waking in the middle of the night to find his brother staring out the motel windows like he’s waiting for something.

Sam will start talking for real again.

Dean’s button and fly are undone and Sam’s hand is down the front of his jeans, feeling the shape of him through his boxers, and Sam’s really gonna do this, out here in the woods, in the snow.

S-Sammy—

Sam shakes his head, his chapped lips on Dean’s and his tongue opening him up. His hands are cupping Dean’s face and his hips are rocking into Dean’s and he’s still got snow in his hair, on his shoulders.

He presses Dean down flat, his hands on Dean’s chest for balance and leaning over him.

Dean’s coat has soaked through, the back of his t-shirt damp and cold and Sam is pushing him down deeper into the mud. His arms are streaked with it and Sam’s eyes flash like wildfire.

Dean can’t catch his breath between the freezing air and his brother’s frenzy. He chokes and Sam groans. He kisses Dean, teeth catching on his lower lip and his left hand on Dean’s lower stomach.

Dean reaches up to cup Sam’s face and smears mud on his brother’s cheek, chasing the hot, wet of Sam’s mouth.  He unzips Sam’s hoodie, lets it fall to the ground and pulls on Sam’s shirt, seizing handfuls of it to pull him in closer.

Sam, meanwhile, gets his hand back down Dean’s jeans and starts jerking him off, his thumb sliding to the underside of Dean’s cock on his upstroke.

Dean writhes under him, bucking up to meet Sam’s touch and panting, his breath a cloud of vapor issuing from his open mouth.

Sam.

Sam’s eyes are closed, his lips parted and Dean moans, begs Sam to look at him, fuck him, anything.

Sam isn’t listening. His hand is still working Dean but he’s miles away, biting down on his lip, his hips pressing Dean into the ground.

Sam, Sam, Dean can’t hold it in, can’t stop saying his name, trying to pull him back. And Sam finally looks, really _looks._ His eyes pin Dean down and he’s smiling slightly, just the one side of his lips pulling upwards, one dimple carved deep.

Sam’s cheeks are pink from cold, his mouth swollen from kissing and Dean’s fucking into his brother’s fist, shivering and too-hot all at once.

Wherever Sam touches him, he burns. His touch is scalding, peeling-flesh-from-bone hot. Sam is wreathed in flame and Dean’s back is arching in ecstasy. His body is filthy; sweaty and red and painted with dirt and Sam’s kissing his neck, biting his throat, drawing blood to the surface.

When he draws back to look at Dean his eyes are sick, toxic yellow and Dean’s terrified and awed at the same time because Sam is radiating power, the cold unable to touch him.

He blinks and he’s watching Dean pull away. He lets him and doesn’t say anything. He could destroy the ground under Dean with a word and Dean feels it in his gut.

Dean scrambles back on his hands, his palms sinking deep into mud and cold earth.

Sammy what the hell, Sammy what’s going on—

Sam gets to his feet, his jeans still undone and looks down at Dean.

This is a nightmare or a hallucination, something’s wrong and Sam is too tall and too big, to look at him is painful and Dean’s eyes are burning.

Dean lowers his gaze to Sam’s inexplicably bare feet.

Jeans and a t-shirt and bare feet.  This is Sam.

Dean’s still aching, stupidly hard on the ground and he’s afraid, doesn’t know what to do.

Dean?

Dean looks up at his brother. There’s snow in his hair and his brows are knit low over his eyes, concerned.

Hazel. His eyes are hazel.

Dean chokes and tries to stand, only getting so far as his knees. Sam cups his jaw with a hand and Dean closes his eyes, relaxing into the touch.

Your feet, Dean says. Aren’t you cold?

No, Sam says. He strokes Dean’s cheek.  Are you?

No. Because he’s not, not anymore.

He gathers Dean closer to him, Dean’s head against his stomach and his fingers in Dean’s hair.

Dean staggers to his feet, Sam’s arm at his back bracing him.

Sam, it’s you?

Who else would it be? Sam cocks his head to the side.

Dean needs to be sure, needs to touch. Needs to know. He pulls Sam’s light blue t-shirt off over his head, wrapping his arms around his brother’s waist.

It’s all thin, willowy Sam. He’s warm, but not like before. Not like an ember.

Dean moves his arms to around Sam’s neck and gets him up against the same tree Sam had pushed him up on before.

Sam winces when the bark tears at his back but he kisses Dean hard. Dean wants to crush into him, wants to melt inside him so that he can keep him safe. Keep him Sam.

When he pulls back to look at Sam, there’s still a streak of dirt on his face. His eyes glint in the gray light, his hair disheveled.

He looks like Dean’s brother.

There’s no hint of yellow, none of that awful presence. He’s thin and tall and he’s quiet, like he has been for months.

Dean collects their filthy clothes under his arm and shepherds Sam back to the car with an arm around his waist the whole time.

He makes him wear two shirts so he doesn’t catch cold but Sam doesn’t so much as shiver for the next three hundred miles.

He just stares out the window at the dusk.

They’re getting closer to Dad, and it makes the panic in Dean’s stomach subside a little.

They’re getting close to Yellow Eyes and this will all be over soon.

He smiles at Sam’s profile, hopeful. Things will be fine.

Sam keeps looking straight ahead, but his hand inches over to Dean’s thigh.

His fingers are fever-hot and he smiles, too.  
  
  
  
  



End file.
